“Helmawr’s rump!” said Scabbs as Feg opened the supposedly boarded-up door of the warehouse with the smuggling tunnel and slipped inside.
The little ratskin made an executive decision. There was nowhere for Feg to go at this point but back into the docks or out into the Ash Wastes. If Feg came back out before Kal arrived, he could just follow him again. If he went into the wastes, well Kal would know what to do. One thing Scabbs knew, there was no way he would follow that maniac into the wastes alone. So he decided to wait it out.
After a few long minutes of intolerable silence, Scabbs heard someone kick a stone behind him. He turned, a smile spreading across his face, expecting to see Kal.
“Well now! Well now,” said the dock guard. “What do we have here?”
“And who might you be?” asked Bobo of the man in the dark. “Let me guess, the Duke of Catallus.”
“Wrong!” said the shadowy figure. “I will explain, but not here. If you wish to leave the Spire alive, and wealthy, follow me.”
The figure slipped away from the bridge abutment and darted across the street towards an alley. Bobo could just barely make out his form in the dark as the man stepped into the alley. A moment later, a shadowy arm snuck out of the black alley and beckoned him in.
Bobo had little choice. Ran Lo had put him on a deadly clock and Kal’s wedding was in the morning. He was out of time. Bobo checked behind him for Kauderer, but even if the master spy was there, Bobo knew he had little chance of seeing him. He shrugged and trotted across the street into the alley. He kept his hand on the knife in his pocket just in case.
“Okay,” he said into the darkness. “I’m here. Tell me what this is about or I’m gone.”
“Certainly, Mr. Bobo,” said the man in the dark. “Yes, I know your real name. My employer saw through Kauderer’s alias quite quickly. But now it seems that we are both in unique positions.”
Bobo was getting impatient. “Get to the point,” he said. “What does your employer want?”
“Due to your current disaffected position vis-à-vis your current employer, you are in the unique position of being able to make your alias permanent,” said the man, ignoring Bobo’s request for a more direct conversation. “And my employer, needing the services of a man not only with your skills but your access to House Helmawr and your dislike of certain men in charge of said house, is in the unique position of being able to grant that permanent transfer, assuming you perform one task for him.”
Bobo almost followed all of that, and it seemed they had finally come to the point in the conversation when he could ask a direct question and maybe even receive an answer. “Fine,” he said. “What is the task?”
“Why, to kill Kal Jerico before he marries and gets crowned Lord of Hive Primus, of course.”
“Of course,” said Bobo. “And I do this for your employer why?”
“Upon successful completion of the requested task,” said the man, “my employer will be in a position to grant you any request you wish. You could even leave Necromunda with your little girlfriend and start a new life elsewhere, perhaps as Jackal Bristol.”
“And how would I afford to live the life of Jackal Bristol?” asked Bobo. He still couldn’t see well enough in the dark to get more than a silhouette of the man. “Mr. Bristol has expensive tastes.”
“My employer is prepared to pay you the sum of one hundred thousand credits for the successful completion of this task, plus clandestine transport off Necromunda.”
Bobo gasped. That sum of money was so beyond anything he’d ever imagined that he momentarily lost control of his normally guarded emotions. He recovered quickly. “And how can your employer afford such an amount?”
“Let’s just say he has connections to the wealth of the Spire and, once Kal Jerico is dead, he plans to solidify those connections even further.”
“When do I get to meet this employer of yours?” asked Bobo. But the silhouette was already fading away as the man moved off down the alley.
“Tomorrow at the wedding, Mr. Bobo,” he said as he left. “Instructions and gear will be waiting for you in your apartment.”
“Gear?” asked Bobo, but there was nobody there to answer his question.
The guard had a laspistol in one hand and a billy club in the other. His uniform had been recently cleaned and pressed and all his buttons were not only intact but polished to a bright sheen. All Scabbs had was his blindsnake pouch, which once again had failed to warn him about someone sneaking up behind him.
“There’s been an awful lot of commotion around the docks lately,” said the guard. “You know anything about all that?”
Scabbs shook his head, but the guard didn’t seem convinced.
“I think you do,” said the guard. “See, I’ve noticed you skulking around here quite a bit the last few days. Now, you can either tell me what you know, or Mr. Billy here will begin prodding your memory for you.”
He shook the club menacingly; obviously wanting to make sure his threat didn’t remain even thinly veiled.
Scabbs tried to think of some lie to tell the guard that would sound convincing enough to stave off another beating, but he wasn’t an accomplished liar like Kal. The best he could come up with was, “I’m looking for a friend?”
“Your friend’s not here right now, is he?” said the guard. “It’s just you and me. Now, tell me what you know, Scabbs, or Mr. Billy and I persuade you to talk.”
Scabbs was about to spill his guts when he realised the guard had called him by his name. He hadn’t given his name yet. He stammered a little to buy some time as he scrutinized the guard a little closer. The polished buttons, the clean uniform, and Scabbs now noticed that the guard’s laspistol had a pearl-handled grip, just like Kal’s.
“That’s an expensive gun,” said Scabbs finally.
The guard stopped shaking the club and stared at Scabbs. “Huh?” He glanced at the gun. “What’s that got to do with the whereabouts of your friend?”
Scabbs suppressed a smile as a Kal Jerico plan formed in his head. “I’m just saying that a gun like that must have taken a large chunk of your pay check; perhaps several pay checks.”
The guard looked confused, but before he could try to retake control of the conversation Scabbs pressed on. “I would think a man like you is not adverse to finding ways to bring in a little extra money on the side, you might say.”
Now the guard understood. “Ah,” he said. “I think I see where you’re headed. But I should warn you that my ‘night’ job pays pretty well. It would take a large sum to make me look the other way right now.”
Scabbs let his smile spread across his face. Yolanda had been right. Nemo had some dock guards in his pocket and this must be one of them. That meant all bets were off. “But you haven’t seen what I have in my pouch,” he said. “Let me show you just a sample.”
Scabbs stuck a finger into the blindsnake pouch and scooped a large gob of paste onto his finger. He pulled out his finger and flung the goo at the guard’s face. It hit dead centre, splattering on the man’s nose and spreading up into his eyes and down into his open mouth. Scabbs could smell the stench of the fungi/venom mixture from several feet away.
The guard started hacking and sneezing and screaming. He tossed his weapons aside and clawed at his eyes and mouth. Eventually, his knees buckled and he dropped to the ground and vomited. Tears streamed down his face and blood began to trickle from his nose. Scabbs strolled over, picked up Mr. Billy and lined up a shot at the guard’s head.
“That’s no way to treat a man in uniform,” said Kal as he walked up.
Scabbs held his swing for a moment. The guard continued vomiting and spitting on the ground. “I’m pretty sure he’s been paid off by Nemo,” said Scabbs. “Maybe even reports to him.”
“Then, by all means,” said Kal. He folded his arms over his chest.
Scabbs put both hands on Mr. Billy, pulled the club back over his shoulder and unleashed a mighty swing.
“So,” said
Kal, after the guard dropped to the ground unconscious. “Where’s Feg?”
Vandal Feg shone his beam down into the smuggler’s tunnel to check for guards or Nemo’s men, or anyone else who might possibly be waiting for him in the dark. This entire operation had left a sour taste in his mouth. Mr. Smythe had said it would be so simple. Just shoot down the transport, steal the package and bring it to him in the docks. He not only supplied the heavy weapons and the mercenaries, but promised Feg twenty-five thousand credits for his part in the operation.
But then the royals beat him back to the docks. So, after taking out the three guards that barged in on him and the little ratskin, Feg decided he needed to stow the package somewhere safe.
Content that nobody was below him in the tunnel, Feg dropped through the hole. He waved the light beam around and then trotted and skidded down the steep incline, keeping an eye and an ear open for anything moving.
Luckily, his knowledge of these tunnels went well beyond that of anyone still alive in the hive. Feg was the sole living member of the smuggling gang that first found the tunnel. In retrospect he probably shouldn’t have killed all of his partners. But that last score had just been too big and tempting.
He stopped about halfway down the tunnel, at the edge of a deep drop-off that looked like it had been caused by a hivequake. In reality, the smugglers had created the chasm by accident while excavating the tunnel. They then decided to use what appeared to be a lethal drop into the darkness as a holding area for the loot they planned to smuggle into and out of the hive.
Feg got down on his hands and knees and swung his legs over the edge of the chasm. Holding onto the rocky lip with his steel claws, he lowered his legs down to a ledge cut back beneath the lip of the chasm. The little alcove couldn’t be seen from above unless you leaned way out over the chasm and shined a light beam back towards the wall. Even then it looked like a natural outcropping of stone.
Once his feet reached the ledge, Feg let go and lurched forward. He always hated that part. Of course, getting back out was even worse. Back during the smuggling days they had used a winch to get stolen goods in and out of the alcove, but Feg didn’t need that. He illuminated the back of the alcove with his beam and found the satchel.
He slung it over his head and went back to the ledge. It had been the perfect hiding place, because only someone as large as Vandal Feg could get back out without help. He stood on his tiptoes and reached up with his mechanical arm. Digging his claws into the stone floor above him, he used all the hydraulic strength in his arm to pull himself back out of the chasm, scrabbling at the sheer wall with his legs as he ascended.
He got his other hand up to help pull his massive body out of the hole and then sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, before getting to his feet.
“Thanks, Vandal,” said a familiar voice from behind him. “I’ll take that satchel now, or have you forgotten our deal?”
Vandal turned around and scowled at the smiling face of Kal Jerico. His little ratskin half-breed pal stood cowering behind the bounty hunter.
“Sure thing,” said Vandal. He grabbed the strap and pulled the satchel from around his neck. “Show me fifty thousand credits and it’s all yours.” He held the satchel out over the chasm. “Otherwise, you can dive for it.”
Kal sputtered. “Fifty thousand?” He wondered who in the Spire could afford to throw so much money around.
“The deal was for double, right?” said Vandal. “So, double twenty-five is fifty.”
Kal smiled. “No problem,” he said. “You come with me to my estate in the Spire and I’ll get that out of petty cash.”
“You think I’m a fool, Jerico?” yelled Feg. As he said it, he pointed at Kal with the hand holding the satchel strap.
Kal drew both laspistols and shot. The blasts hit Feg’s body armour, doing little damage, but the shots passed through the strap, severing the leather on either side of the brute’s massive hand. The satchel fell to the ground at Feg’s feet.
Kal rushed in, trying to reach the satchel before Feg could react.
“Oh no you don’t, Jerico,” said Feg. He kicked at the satchel.
Kal dove and got his hands on the satchel. Feg’s huge boot smacked him in the ribs. He tumbled away, losing his grip on the satchel. As Kal lay there trying to draw a breath, he watched the satchel slide down the tunnel along with his laspistols.
“You’re dead, Jerico!” cried Feg.
“If I had a cred for every time someone said that, I could retire,” said Kal. He pushed himself back to his feet. “Hell, Yolanda says it ten times a day.”
Feg’s chainsword revved to life, its whining scream echoing through the tunnel. Kal went for his guns, but then remembered they’d gone down the tunnel with the satchel.
“Aw, scav,” he said, ducking and backing away just as Feg swung his chainsword in a long arc over his head. “Um, Scabbs?” called Kal. “Little help here?”
“On it,” said Scabbs. He ran down the tunnel behind Feg. Kal ducked and weaved as the chainsword screamed at him again.
“Stand still and die,” said Feg.
Kal smiled. “I’m too pretty to die,” he said, pulling out his sabre. “You on the other hand…”
He slipped inside Feg’s reach after the chainsword passed and stuck him in the thigh with the point of his blade. The sword dug deep, but Kal knew he didn’t have time to drive it home. He pulled out quickly and ran on through.
Twirling around, Kal had to sidestep as the chainsword came down at his head from above. As always with Feg, it was turning into a battle of brute force versus speed and guile. Kal would be fine as long as Feg never touched him.
He spun away as Feg punched at him with his massive left hand. He then had to dive to the ground and roll away as the chainsword came spinning back in from the side. It seemed Feg had learned some new moves.
Feg stomped at him as he rolled, but didn’t seem interested in using the chainsword at the moment. Kal wondered why, and then saw the edge of the chasm coming towards him as he rolled. Vandal was driving him towards the edge.
Kal couldn’t slow down, though. If he stopped, he’d get a face full of boot. So instead he sped up, lifting his arms over his head and rolling faster. His feet went over the edge first. As his lower body fell, Kal swung his legs around like a pendulum. Then, catching the ledge with his free hand, he continued rotating his body around until his legs came back up over the top.
He scrambled up and kicked out at Feg as he tried to stomp one last time. Kal’s boot caught Vandal’s ankle in mid-air, kicking it up high enough to put the huge man off balance. Kal kicked out with his other leg, smacking Feg behind the knee. The brute fell backwards onto the ground.
Kal jumped to his feet and called out, “Now would be a good time, Scabbs,” He looked down the tunnel just in time to see the satchel flying at him. As the package hit him in the stomach, Kal yelled, “My guns, Scabbs. My guns!”
But it was too late. Vandal had reared both legs back and kicked out at Kal, slamming him in the chest. Kal went flying back onto the hard ground while the satchel tumbled high up into the air and fell at the edge of the chasm, teetering over the lip.
“Shoot him!” screamed Kal as he tried to reach the satchel. Right then, his pearl-handled laspistols clattered to the ground next to him. As usual, Scabbs was one step behind where Kal needed him.
Kal heard the chainsword whine to life above him. He rolled over just in time for Vandal’s foot to press down on his chest, holding him in place. The big brute raised his mechanical hand over his head and revved the chain on his sword.
“Now you die, Jerico!”
Wotan heard the sounds of battle. That was nothing new to his processors. In the Underhive, someone was always fighting someone else. He was far more interested in the large rat he’d just seen sticking its nose out from a crack in the tunnel wall. He growled, but the rat didn’t move. It just stared at Wotan and twitched its nose.
That made Wotan even angr
ier. He wasn’t sure why he should hate the rat so much. It wasn’t like the rat had done anything other than exist and happen to come out of its hole at the wrong time. But he did hate the rat, and he hated it even more for not running. Rats should run when he growled. That’s how this worked.
Wotan crept forward, his head low and his stubby, metal tail twitching. A low growl escaped his mouth again. Three metres. He took another couple of tentative steps, but the rat didn’t move. Two metres. The sounds of battle intensified and Wotan thought he heard a familiar voice, but the sounds echoed so much his processors couldn’t identify it. One metre.
Wotan lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut just as the rat ran off down the tunnel. He barked and gave chase. But even with his mechanical legs, he couldn’t outrun the rat. It dodged and scampered and jumped off the wall to get away. Wotan finally gave up. His rubber tongue lolled out to the side as he trotted along with his mouth hanging open. The anger had passed. The rat had run. That’s all he wanted.
Then he heard the voices again, just up ahead. One still sounded familiar. Then the other one said, “Blah, blah, blah, Jerico!”
Wotan’s ears picked up. “Jerico!” That was the owner of the familiar voice. Wotan bounded off down the tunnel.
Kal tried to squirm out of the way, but Feg’s big boot held him fast to the ground. He tried to kick, but couldn’t even lift his legs because his hips were being crushed by Vandal’s massive weight. And he’d dropped his sabre before he’d rolled over the edge the chasm. Only one thing to do: stall.
“Vandal?” he cried. “What’s that behind you?” Yeah, Kal knew it was weak, but he had nothing else and no time to think of anything better. Besides, Vandal might just be dumb enough to fall for it. He didn’t.
“Give me a break, Jerico,” he said. “Just how dumb do you think I am?” The chainsword began its rapid descent towards Kal’s face.
Just then, Kal saw a flash of metal fly over Vandal Feg’s head. The next thing he knew, the whine of the chainsword died away and Feg’s forearm snapped back up towards his shoulder.
[Necromunda 10] - Lasgun Wedding Page 19
